Journal of a Teenage Vampire
by Rhya Storm
Summary: Girl. Fifteen. Charming, but insane. Seeks ... well, seeks her crush, Erin McCoy, but failing that, seeks a way to prevent her schizophrenic best friend from trying to drown herself in the Goblet of Fire. Life is ... interesting.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well. This is different. A story solely for the purpose of humor. ...I honestly have _no_ idea where this came from. The title just popped into my head and went from there. Hope you all enjoy it! Yes, I do have other stories I should be working on. But my muse is a fickle, fickle thing. It's a curse.

Disclaimer: recites quickly at hyper speed IdonotowntheHarryPotteruniverseorthetrademarkedcharactersthatwilleventuallybefoundwithin. I _do _own Layla. And her parents, and Randi, and anyone _else_ I make up in this story! Mine! All mine!

Summary: This is basically a journal/thingy of a fifth year vampire. In Harry-Potter-Universe-timeline, it's Harry's fourth year. Yep. Just because I wanted to do the Yule ball thing. Uh-huh.

* * *

_Anyone reading this journal without explicit permission from the owner will find a dozen and one ancient Egyptian and Arabic curses visited upon their person, including a sudden and viscous growth appearing in most uncomfortable and private areas, much to the dismay of the recipient._

_In other words, if I didn't say "Sure, you can read my journal", bugger off._

* * *

My name, as you may have already gathered by the above information, is Layla. Layla Chione Sakhmet.

And my life is officially insane.

Allow me to back up a bit. My name is Layla. My best friend is a crazy, hyper, psychopathic, schizophrenic, manic werewolf who answers to the name of Randi. Or "Hey, dumb mutt!" I _say_ she's my best friend, but she's really more like a pet. I mean this in the best possible way.

I'm a vampire. Well, _technically_ I'm only a half-vampire. My mother was a human my father had an affair with. My mom – my dad's wife, I mean, not my birth mom – was okay with this – vampires get a tad restless every century or so. It wasn't a permanent thing, and the unions rarely, if ever, bear fruit.

Anyway, my birth mom felt I was a monster and dumped me on Dad's veranda with a nasty note to do what he would with me. Of course, mom and dad – my _real _parents, to my way of thinking – raised me as one of their own. It's hard for vampires to breed. So I was like an unexpected miracle.

I have rather Egyptian looks, thanks to my dad. . I'm very tall. And skinny. My mom just says I'm _lanky_, but there's really no getting around it – I'm skinny. At fifteen, I can still be cast as skinny. Guh. My skin is perpetually tanned. It's a great look for winter. I'm told my eyes look black. Personally, I feel they're grey. But whatever. My hair is long. And black. Hints of red here and there from my birth mother. My dad says I have 'inherited the flawless, passionate beauty of his noble Egyptian vampire line'. He looks so proud when he says that, that I never tell him I don't really care, and just act like I'm really happy and honored instead. I just can't bring myself to hurt his feelings. It's like kicking the biggest puppy in the world. He's just such a big sweetheart.

So. Being a half-vampire, I _do _drink blood. But not as much as my parents have too, and it isn't exactly _vital_ – kinda like Gatorade or something. According to Randi. If this makes any sense to anyone, please let me know. Anyway, I have to have the blood severely watered down. And I only drink donated cow's blood. It makes me feel queasy to drink human blood, like I'm eating one of my friends.

I don't have any aversion to sunlight, my eyes are just a tad more sensitive than most. All that bull about sunlight shriveling vampires up … hey, if _you_ had owl-like nighttime vision, _you_ wouldn't like to go out in the sun, either! I have superb night-vision, though. And vampire skin tends to be rather sensitive. Not mine, though I never go anywhere without suntan lotion.

I _adore_ garlic. What sane person _doesn't_? The stuff is _heavenly_. Have you ever smelled it? Sheer delight. My parents aren't too fond of it; it bothers their hyper-sensitive noses. Crosses don't bother us in the least – I'm actually a part-time Christian. So there.

Well, I've pretty much disproved nearly all of those horrid vampire myths, haven't I?

Anyway. Back to my insane life.

I'm fifteen. I'm starting my fifth year at Hogwarts.

My mom wants to take me clothes shopping.

With Randi.

Oh, Lord.

Allow me to enlighten those of you who don't know either my mom or Randi or, if it be possible, both. Randi plus my mom plus clothes shopping equals … shopaholic explosion! KABOOM!

They both _adore_ shopping for me. My looks give them endless playtime.

Personally, I'd rather have some jeans. Maybe an African or Arabian skirt. T-shirts and sweaters. Thrift shop stuff.

I'm not the sort of person who likes Victorian/Goth or sheeque/classy sort of stuff.

Unfortunately, I seem to have the sort of body that looks perfect in that kind of stuff.

Kill me now, God. Please.

…

So much for the almighty-lightening-bolt-striking-down-the-evilness-known-as-the-mall thing. Oh, well.

Guess I'll just have to struggle through it.

…

Dear Ra, I can't take this. I really can't.

Help.

Me.

…please?


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Yeah, I'm updating again. Because it was just _sitting_ there. And, also, I have no life. My muse refuses to let me write what I want ... insists I write other stuff. Evil muse ... Anyway, wow! Two reviews already! Oh, and this isn't going to be in "journal" format, just first-person. More fun that way. You meet the dreaded Randi here!

Oh, and it's like a wizard/witch mall that they're at. We have them, why can't they?

* * *

"Oooh, look at _that_! Come on, Layla, try it on!"

I stared at the pink and black spaghetti-stringed abomination with nothing but the utmost disgust and revulsion it deserved. "Randi. _Look_ at it. It's _obviously_ mutated from something else. It'll strangle me in my sleep. It's _evil_."

Randi pouted, making big brown puppy-dog eyes at me, her dark brown bangs falling over her face. "Layla! Don't _say_ that! Look, you've hurt its _feelings_." So saying, she began petting the atrocity in what I assumed was meant to be a comforting manner. "_Don't_ worry, Layla didn't _mean_ it, she's just a grouchy old vampire, she really _loves_ you," she crooned in a low voice.

Yeah. To a pink and black _thing _that soiled the name of dresses everywhere.

I believe I mentioned earlier that Randi was mentally unbalanced.

If not, allow me to reiterate – _she's dangerously insane. I do not know why she is my friend. Pet. Whatever._

"Randi," I began slowly and calmly. You can't let insane people know you're afraid – they can smell fear. Especially if they're werewolves. Like my dearest Randi here.

"Randi, you're petting the dress. Please stop. You're making people stare." I made sure my voice was at a tone of utmost normalcy and reason. Randi, of course, didn't spare me a glance, and continued stroking the repugnant thing. I tried again. "Randi, it's a _dress_. Not even, I could _never_ insult self-respecting dresses everywhere by indicating that this loathsome disgrace had anything in common with them. _It has no feelings. _It's _evil_, Randi!"

"You mean you'd rather wear a pretty prom dress than _this_? This _beauty_?" Her tone was extremely affronted. Quite frankly, I didn't care. There wasn't an icicle's chance in _Hell_ that I was even _considering_ touching that thing.

"_YES!"_ I screamed at her. Sometimes, brute force is the only way to go.

She grinned evilly at me. "Oh, _good_!" she exclaimed brightly, all former traces of insanity vanished as she seized my arm and dragged me towards a rack of prom dresses, waving my mother over from the bra department.

"Oh, _God_," I moaned, realizing the trap I had so willingly walked into. It's hard having a pet psycho werewolf sometimes. They tend to _know_ things. Not to mention being unutterably strange on account of having _two_ 'time of the month's' instead of a normal _one_.

Whatever. Back to the women's department. Or, as I call it, the Seventh Circle of Hell.

The Eighth is the bra/underwear department, in case anyone's wondering.

With both my mom and Randi ganging up on me, I had no choice but to allow them to load me up with at least a dozen dresses and dress robes and hustle me into the dressing room. The women's dressing room, obviously. Once, I was lost in a strange mall, and I needed to try on this really neat scarf/skirt, and … well, the men's department is a lot worse. That's all I have to say.

A chubby witch was at the counter. She handed me one of those little tags with the number '8' on it. "Wait," I protested. "I have, like, twelve dresses and robes here."

The chubby witch shrugged, ignoring me. "The numbers only go up to eight," she finally answered when I showed no signs of going anywhere. I would have stood there all day if needed. I'm a very stubborn person.

"Ah," I said dryly, before marching reluctantly into the nearest room.

Mom and Randi _insisted_ on me coming out and displaying _each and every dress._ Some of them were, quite frankly, embarrassing. I don't have enough cleavage for a neckline like that! God! (Actually, I barely have any. I have very little bestowment in thechest area.But you didn't need to know that.)

In the beginning, I was stubbornly set upon humoring them by trying all the dresses on and then refusing to buy any of them. I wound up buying two new dresses and four new dress robes. Goes to show how persuasive my mom is. I swear, she could convince a dead man to get up and dance the mambo in a floodtide. She is _that_ good.

Not that I don't love her. And she _is_ gorgeous. Very Egyptian-beauty-esque. I'll never be as beautiful as her if I live for a million years. And she's the greatest mom in the world. She's just … very, very passionate about clothes. On anyone. Especially her daughter.

Jewelry too, actually. But I don't mind that. I _love_ jewelry. Traditional jewelry, anyway – you know, Indian, Native American, Chinese, Aboriginal stuff. Very cool. But anyways. Back to my rant.

Not only did I wind up buying six new dressy … _things_, I also found myself in possession of the _accessories_ for all of these things. Ugh. If it's not a bracelet or necklace, I'm not interested. And they're all around the same theme – midnight/Goth/Victorian stuff. You know, evening gowns, elegant embroidered dress robes, the works. Raven black, blood red, midnight blue. _You_ know. _Vampire_ colors. I swear, I'll look like a Victorian countess if I ever put _any _of this crud on. Gag.

"Moooooommmm," I groaned as I staggered about with the dozens of bags filled with stuff _they_ picked out for me. "Whyyyyyy …?"

"Oh, come on, honey," she pleaded, batting her eyes at me. She has these absolutely amazing eyes. They're blue, but really light and clear, like … I don't know, a waterfall. Not crystal, crystal doesn't have the _energy_ Mom has. Like she's absolutely and totally awake, and everyone else is stumbling around half-asleep. I wish I were her _birth _daughter. Then _I_ might have eyes like that.

She reached around and gave me a big hug. "I know you hate shopping, but admit it! You _like_ having all these nice clothes. Let Mommy have fun picking them out for you."

I sighed, but she was right – I liked knowing I had nice clothes.

I just didn't like actually _wearing_ them.

Randi, meanwhile, was skipping crazily this way and that, somehow managing to get in the way of every single person within a five-meter radius of her. I sighed as I handed my bags to mom and prepared to rescue the masses from my insane pet … err, friend.

"Randi!" I shouted as she nearly ran over this elderly wizard that I was _sure_ was someone important. I just have that kind of luck. I grabbed her hand and yanked her out of the poor old man's way, jerking her towards me. "_No_, Randi! _Bad!_ Down, Randi!"

Randi whined, sounding not unlike a kicked puppy. I ignored this with substantial success – I'd been practicing for the past four years, after all. "Randi," I explained with no little patience for the nine-hundred-bazillionth time, speaking as if to a kindergartener, enunciating every word carefully, "you cannot, I repeat, can_not_ go running around like that in front of people. You could trip someone. They could get hurt. They could _sue_."

Randi gasped, eyes widening in panic. "N-n-n-nooooooooooo!" she screamed, clinging desperately to me in her terror, causing the many sane-minded people around us to stare and edge hastily away. "NO! Don't let them get me, Layla! Don't let the nasty lawyers get me!"

I patted her head comfortingly while smiling encouragingly at the frightened people surrounding us. Seeing this working, my mom tried it. This, however, only caused more people to edge away, as her prominent incisors are substantially more noticeable than mine. "It's okay, Randi," I soothed. "The vile scum known as lawyers won't get you, as long as you don't go injuring wealthy senior citizens. Your allowance is safe."

She sniffled and only clung tighter to my arm, trying to hide her face in the sleeve of my T-shirt. This is normal behavior, by the way – if I was just slightly less sane than I currently am, I would behave in the same way whenever lawyers were mentioned. Lawyers have that affect on people.

Which is a shame, because only about ninety-five percent of lawyers are scumbags, disgraces to society, atrocities, monstrosities, and otherwise all around creatures that rose from the slime pit of damnation. They tarnish the rep of the other five percent of lawyers who are decent, honest people, doing the job right and deserving to be worshipped for their perseverance in face of all the bad reputation the other ninety-five-percent of lawyers leave behind.

What? It's a fact.

I was _bored_, alright? Randi left this thingy – kneetop? Laptop? I dunno – and I played with it … found it on this place called 'Google' … weird name.

Ahem. Anyways.

Somehow, we managed to make it to a Floo station nearby, what with my poor mother hauling all my bags along – though actually, she really only has herself to blame – and me staggering along with Randi attached to my arm, whimpering and snuffling, breaking off from these activities only to randomly attack some passing Ministry officials wearing suits. I successfully managed to fend her off of them, however, and we arrived at the Ra-blest Floo Station.

Of course, then I had to let go of my dear pet werewolf in order to hold some bags for Mom so she could dig the Floo powder from out of her pocket. It was dark out – had been for a couple hours. Mom didn't like wincing in the sun, even with sunglasses – she said they made her look old. Personally, I don't think _anything_ could make Mom look old. She's, like … _perfect_.

So, when the flames were roaring and we were ready to go, where was Randi?

Of course, she wasn't there.

But, being her owner – best friend, I mean – I knew _exactly_ where she would go and returned with her in tow in precisely five point two seconds. The only reason it wasn't three point two is that it had taken some extra time to pry her teeth from the carousel horse's neck – it was one of those cheap aluminum ones.

"_I'm_ the one who bites necks, not you!" I hissed at her as we jammed into the emerald-green flames. Being a vampiress – even a half-blood one – I can hiss pretty damn well.

"I do _so_ bite people!" Randi protested as we spun dizzily through the network of fireplaces. I didn't pay her much attention – I was too busy trying not to be sick all over her.

I _hate_ traveling by Floo.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Well, much thanks to my lovely reviewers; **wilddog14, Lela1694, QFan, Wolfy, **and **casui**. Oh, by the way, **casui**_yes_, this is Harry Potter, but it's more about Layla's life than anything else. "Life as Layla knows it" sort of thing. Won't see much action, sorry. But there _is_ the Triwizard tournament to look forwards too ... so who knows? **((chuckles evilly)) **She won't be participating, though ... too young.

* * *

We arrived with a thump, a bang, an "Ouch!", several Arabic curses I can't spell, and a large cloud of coal dust. Looks like the chimney sweep decided to skip our house again. Not that I can blame him – our house is seriously creepy.

Mom, with a quick flick of her wand, cleared away the dust – from everywhere save our lungs. I hacked for probably a good minute or so, trying to get the annoying soot out of my throat. Randi thumped me on the back. I _think_ she was trying to help, but all that served was to nearly knock me over.

When I finally recovered, I looked up to see my father standing in the doorway to the sitting room, watching us with an amused smile on his face. My dad is extremely handsome – his black hair is nearly as long as my mom's, and is always held back with a gold hair tie that he used to tell me belonged to Bastet (Goddess of cats). When I was, like, six.

"Daddy!" I squealed happily. Cue deliriously happy daughter gracefully leaping and/or flying into her father's welcoming arms.

Whoever that daughter is, she sure as hell isn't me.

Here's what happened when _I_ tried that:

I started forwards, still half-bent over from my coughing fit. Managed two steps, then tripped over my own big feet. Stumble, then trip again, _this_ time over the bags my mom had set down on the floor while she'd been cleaning out the soot. Cue immensely embarrassing pratfall as I land, completely without anything resembling grace, in a jumble of oversized legs and arms about five feet from my destination, a.k.a. Dad. Go me. I manage to make a complete and total fool of myself within five _seconds_ of seeing my father. I have yet to inherit that natural, easy grace that all vampires seem to possess.

"Hey, Daddy," I managed from my twisted, pretzel-like position on the floor, half-sprawled across the coffee table. I heard him laugh softly from somewhere above and to the left of me. I scowled. "It's not _polite_ to make fun of your daughter," I informed him crossly, as I attempted to realign my miscellaneous, rebellious limbs into their proper positions in relation to the rest of my body. This is more difficult than it might sound, as the rest of me has yet to catch up with my legs and arms.

"It's lovely to see you too, Layla," he replied. He has this voice that's half-way between a baritone and a mid-tenor. I _love_ listening to him talk. When he's not making fun of me. Which is annoying, even if it _is_ required in most all father/daughter relationships.

"Guh," was his only reply as I finally managed to arrange myself in the proper position to begin standing up.

He turned to my mom, obviously happy to see her. He'd been away for two weeks or so on business in Scandinavia. It was great to have him back. "Hello, Najila. It's wonderful to see you again."

She smiled at him – Najila is his pet name for her. It means "eyes that glisten" in the old language. Her real name is Thurayah. "It's good to have you back, Jihan," she replied warmly. Some people think vampires can't love. That is utterly false – when you live forever and are hated by almost everyone and feared by everyone else, you tend to appreciate things like love a whole lot more.

Ugh, did I just wax romantic? Someone give me a good sock in the jaw.

…

Nevermind.

Anyway, Randi and I crept off to my room so that my parents could … go and be mushy together. Or rather, I crept and Randi crashed. She fell. Loudly. _Up_ the stairs.

I didn't know it was _possible_ to fall UP a set of stairs.

You realize this just goes to show what crazy people are capable of?

But then, maybe I'm just jealous because I can only fall DOWN the stairs. On a regular basis. Like, every time I use them.

…Nah, that can't be it. She's just a danger to society in a new and interesting way yet again, that's all.

You may have gathered by now that I'm a bit of a klutz. It can be pretty embarrassing at times. Like, once I tripped on a cobblestone in the Potions classroom and fell into Randi's color-changing potion … I was bright purple for a _week_ before they finally figured out everything that deranged werewolf tossed into the damn potion. Snape _still_ brings it up every once in a while as an example of looking where to walk in the classroom. He'll never let me live it down, I swear.

Why couldn't I have fallen into _Danielle's _cauldron? _She_ would never put poison ivy and that weird little weed that grows outside our dormitory window into her potion.

Mom says I'll grow out of it. I told her I didn't want to grow anymore, the reason I'm so clumsy is because everything is suddenly all out of proportion! If I grow anymore, I'll be a giantess!

_Not_ a good thing.

Dad called up to us, causing me to trip over Randi, who was in the middle of trying to be a Slinky going up the stairs; "Don't forget to pack, tomorrow is September first!"

"'Kay, Daddy," I called back. "Okay, Mr. Sakhmet!" Randi yelled in accompaniment from somewhere in the vicinity of my left elbow.

"What are _you_ talking about, Randi?" I asked her as we worked on untangling ourselves without falling down three flights of stairs – my room is at the top of the house, in a small tower on the fifth floor. I insisted on it when I was seven. It's _such_ a cool room, but it means five flights of stairs every time I go up and down until I'm allowed to Apparate.

"Whaddaya mean?" she replied in typical Randi fashion, wriggling out from underneath my left arm and right leg as she did so.

"_You're_ already packed. Your suitcases are in my room, remember? You're sleeping over tonight, _remember_?" I prompted, trying to jog her decidedly unpredictable memory.

"Oh _yeah_!" she said in the same fashion one might say "Eureka! I have found the meaning of life!" She can be like that.

I rolled my eyes, clinging to the banister as we finally managed to untangle ourselves and proceed upwards once more, Randi continuing her quest to do the perfect reverse imitation of a Slinky.

"Did'ja see that _movie_?" Randi asked me suddenly on the fourth staircase, pausing upside down to ask me. Before we had set out to the stairs, I had managed to convince her to tuck her t-shirt into her corduroy jeans, so this didn't look as strange as it could have.

"_What_ movie?" I asked incredulously. "I haven't seen _any_. I'm not a _Muggle_, Randi. Unlike you."

"Half," she corrected, starting to crabwalk up the stairs with her feet first. This was extremely distracting – the staircase was a spiral one.

Very interesting to watch, to say the least.

"Whatever," I sighed. "My point is, why would I go to see a movie?"

She shrugged, a considerable feat considering her current position. "I dunno. Cuz you felt like it?"

"Well, I _didn't_."

"Oh. Dang. I didn't, either."

"Feel like it?"

"No. See that movie."

"_What _movie, Randi?"

"The one with the thing."

"With the what?"

"_You_ know, the _thing_! The … the thingy-thing!"

"_Oh_," I said dryly. "_That _movie. The one with the thingy-thing. Huh. I feel so enlightened."

"Yeah! That's the one!" she exclaimed happily, oblivious to my blatant sarcasm. In fact, I've found that, for Randi, ignorance really _is_ bliss. But dangerous to those around her.

I shook my head and managed to get to the top of the stairs without any major mishaps occurring – a remarkable feat, as I had to navigate around Randi, who seemed to be undecided which way forwards was when one was crab-walking.

We reached my room (_finally)_ before Randi had a chance to try and chat about the movie – the one with the thingy-thing – thankfully, because I generally don't watch movies. I get a good kick out of Star Wars every now and then, though.

Randi flopped down on my bed, giggling as she bounced up and down. My bed is _huge_. I could situate all the girls in our dormitory on that bed, and _still_ have room left over for various boyfriends and sundry.

Not that I _have_ a boyfriend. Pathetic, isn't it? Me, Randi, and my other best friend, Amy, are the only people who don't have boyfriends. Well, Conner doesn't either, but he's a boy. He's the fourth (and final) member of our little group. Only guy. Poor him. But he doesn't have a girlfriend either, so we're all in the same boat.

Anyway. What was I talking about?

Oh yeah. My room.

It's got a slanted-upwards roof, with a spinning dragon mobile hanging from the top that Conner got me for my twelfth birthday. It's painted with these really soft greens and golds, and on one predominately green wall opposite my bed, I painted a large, rearing black motif of a unicorn, about two years back.

Oh, didn't I mention? I can draw. And paint. Pretty decently, too. It's my _one_ talent, besides being an excellent dress-up-doll for my mother. I would _love_ to be an artist.

But. Anyways.

My bed is one of those canopy deals, with dark velvet curtains. On the wall across from the door is a large window, complete with window-seat (more like window-_bench_, really). A large bookcase sits next to my bed, mostly full of photographs, shiny rocks, pretty conch shells, half-finished moving models, and a fair amount of miniature dragons and unicorns wreaking havoc across the shelves. The few books I have (that _aren't_ about ancient history or art) were presents from family and friends.

Randi's suitcases were piled at the foot of my bed. I deftly avoided them, giving the pile a wide berth just in case, and opened the curtains of my window to see a cloudy, overcast night sky with no moon or stars in sight. Bummer. I closed the curtains again, sighing. I like to look at the night sky. Maybe it's the vampire in me – I don't really know.

"You got all your books?" Randi inquired as I began tossing things into a huge suitcase covered with a bunch of stickers saying things like, "I am a Taurus – you are an asshole", "Beauty is only skin deep – ever seen a dissected swan?", and "Insanity is a necessary commodity in a crazy world". Randi took me to this Muggle store once, and I saw a binful of the things. Of course, I bought a ton and stuck them all on my suitcase.

"Yes, Randi," I replied, tossing said books carelessly atop of my school robes before returning to my perusal of my underwear and sock drawers.

"Your cloak?"

"Yes," I said, grabbing it from a coathanger in my wardrobe and throwing on top of the books.

"Your potions kit?"

"_Yes_, Randi," I growled, snatching it from where it lived, slowly mutating into a semi-intelligent life-form, under my bed.

"Your-"

"_YES_, Randi, for Merlin's sake!" I shouted, tossing the rest of my portable belongings into the suitcase and reaching for my drawing and painting supplies.

"Oh. Okay, then." She then reached over to my dresser, grabbed my multi-colored nail-polish, and began studiously painting her fingernails a swirly mixture of blue, purple, and yellowy-orange.

I growled incoherent mutterings in Randi's general direction while sitting down on my suitcase in order to get it closed enough so I could zipper it. Yes, it zippers. Big whoop. While I was struggling with the Ra-cursed thing (the zippers were intent upon rebellion), Randi started chattering about our new teacher in DADA – Alastor Moody, some retired, paranoid Auror. I was only half listening – it's difficult to zipper something closed when you're sitting on it.

Finally! I quashed the zipper rebellion, managed to get all my sleeves stuffed inside, and zippered the damn thing shut. I flopped backwards over the top of it, sighing in relief. I heard a "mrroww" and a "thump" as my cat leaped onto the suitcase next to me.

"Hey, Cosmo," I said happily, sitting up and scooping him into my arms. "How's my kitty-cat?" Cosmo purred happily and batted at my bangs. He's _such_ a cute cat. He's small, for a cat anyways, and mostly black, with a white chest and muzzle, and little white mittens on all four feet. His talents include shredding Potions essays, using my Transfiguration homework as a litterbox, and shedding all over my clothes. Other than that, he is the cutest, most friendly and adorable little cat there is.

In case it isn't obvious, I absolutely _adore_ him – he was my Christmas present last year from my parents.

"Hey, kitty," Randi exclaimed happily, spying Cosmo purring in my lap, reaching over to pet him. He's one of the few cats who come near her – as such, she adores him.

I handed him over to her, where he became immediately absorbed in sniffing her newly painted nails, trying to lick them occasionally. I flopped onto the bed, rolled over onto my back, and sighed. Tomorrow, I'd be going back to school.

I'd get to see my friends again.

I'd get to eat all that great stuff they have again.

I'd get to see my all-time crush, Erin McCoy, again.

Life is good.


End file.
